


Visions of Despair

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Canon - Enhances original, Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Well-handled emotions, Drama, Plot - Disturbing/frightening/unsettling, War of the Ring, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Well-handled introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2002-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4211867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Disclaimer:** The world of Middle-Earth belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Any direct quotations from The Lord of the Rings are referenced at the bottom of each chapter. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Dedication:** This fanfic is dedicated to Al's Waiter. Many thanks for the countless hours of laughter you have provided everyone ! :-)

**Author's Note:** This is my attempt at telling Denethor's story, from the death of his son until his own death. Denethoris a very complex character, and often misunderstood by the masses. My main motivation for writing this story was to portray Denethor as fairly as possible. I realize he's not the most likeable guy in the world, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he's a fascinating man, with many layers and many aspects to explore. 

**Thanks:** Big thanks to Julie and Drew for helping me beta-read most of these chapters - couldn't have done it without you two! :-) Thanks also to Maryn, Winterfox, Mierauch and Starlight for their help with some of the passages in this story. And of course, thanks to the people who have read my story and gave me valuable suggestions!

* * *

**Chapter One: Sorrow**

I slowly trace my fingers over the jagged edges of the broken horn, feeling only a dull emptiness in my heart. Closing my eyes, I clutch the horn tighter. Only now do I realize that all my preparations have been in vain. 

I open my eyes again and smile grimly, half-amused at my own foolishness; it all seems so preposterous to me now. How can _anyone_ hope to steel themselves against the anguish that follows the death of a loved one? Alas! Why has this evil fate befallen my most beloved son? Why Boromir? 

"How did you come to find this?" I ask, not trusting myself to say anything more. 

"It was found on the shore of the River, my lord," responds Faramir. 

Carefully, I consider the response and sink back into my thoughts. A faint sound, dimly heard, returns to me, haunting me with its soft echoes. _Will that unheeded call for help be the final memory I have of my dearest son?_ I sigh wearily, the shroud of bleakness once again closing in on me. _Boromir, Boromir! How could one so noble and strong fall like this?_

A slight movement catches my eye and brings me out of my trance. Looking up, I see Faramir looking at me with an uncertain expression on his face. He is vaguely uncomfortable in my presence and seemingly... expecting something. He draws a deep breath, wanting to speak, but something stops him. The silence hangs heavily in the air, and at last I dismiss him with a casual wave of my hand. He pauses, taken aback by the gesture. Then, almost inaudibly, he sighs. 

"Good night, father." 

He bows and walks back towards the door. As he turns to close the door behind him, I notice a grief-stricken look in his eyes. He shuts the door abruptly, attempting to hide his emotions from me. For a long time, I sit and listen to the sound of his footsteps disappear down the hall. I stand up and call out tohim, but he does not hear me. Perhaps he has chosen not to hear me. Perhaps I do not want him to hear me. I shake my head sadly, for I can never love him as much as I love Boromir. It is not for my lack of trying, but I cannot overcome the invisible barrier that exists between us. He will never be anything more than a distant shadow to me, and this knowledge pains him greatly. I do not wish to hurt him, yet I cannot find it within me to welcome him into my heart. 

As I stand numbly in my place, I hear the steady murmur of the River Anduin rise to a crescendo in my mind, drowning out my thoughts of Faramir. I carefully lift up the broken shards of the horn once again, seeing it as it once was, and watching helplessly as Rauros shatters it into several pieces. A fleeting image of Boromir appears before me, his proud eyes gazing steadily into mine, a slight smile on his face. As the image fades away into the air, my soul cries out in its wretched misery. 

_My Boromir... My beacon of hope... What shall become of Gondor, if it without its rightful heir?_ The burden on my shoulders grows ever heavier, and I turn once again to the palantír. I know that I should not attempt to use it tonight, for I am far too grieved and tired. Yet, there are things I must know! Staring at the strange stone, I feel its power drawing me closer. _How can I ever sleep in peace, notknowing what has happened to my son?_ A dark flame burns from within the palantír, its terrible glow tempting me with promises of newknowledge. 

I stagger towards the seeing-stone, ignoring the clamors of protest within me. My fingers grip onto the stone and I am drawn deep into its fire. Immediately, the smell of blood and death washes over me. My eyes open and I am greeted by a grotesque creature,snarling and growling. Blood is dripping off its deformed teeth, and its eyes gleam with a dark light. From afar, a voice speaks to me. 

"Isildur's Bane..." 

Boromir's riddle! I strain to look further. Slowly, a clearing appears before me, surrounded by trees. An arrow hisses by, and I am suddenly aware of the battle raging around me. The shrieks of the orcs fill my ears, and I look around frantically, trying to spot Boromir. Where is he? A shape... I see a shape hunched over at the tree! Boromir? 

_No!_ A darkness quickly fills the air and obscures the vision. I grip the stone tighter and order it to show me more. Exhaustion sweeps through me, but I persist. I _must_ know! Struggling against the power of the palantír, my mind screams in pain. 

Let me _see_!

I let out a sigh of relief as wavering visions begin to present themselves before me again. An icy chill runs through my bones and I frown. A dark shadow flies over Gondor... yet, I cannotsee it. For the life of me, I cannot see what it is! Rage wells up insideme, threatening to explode. I concentrate my will and anger uponthe stone, demanding its obedience. 

Two bright, inquisitive eyes stare out at me. Then, a bright flash of white streaks across my field of view, almost blinding me in its radiance. I shut my eyes tightly against the light until it finally diminishes and the darkness takes over again. But it's too dark now... I shiver slightly in the cold void, and then I gasp. I can see - I see Gondor... in ruins! Masses of orcs are pouring into the streets, now filled with destruction and mayhem. Men... slaughtered in cold blood... butchered. 

Dread fills my already-leaden heart. _Is there no hope left for Gondor?_ Looking upon the obliteration of all that I have loved, I collapse onto the ground, and my heart weeps. The red glow of the palantír is the last thing I see as a dreamless sleep overtakes me. 

* * *

**Next Chapter: Suspicion.**


	2. Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.

And so I sit here in these halls again, musing quietly as another day passes by. Every day, the forces of Mordor grow increasingly stronger... I have seen much of the Dark Lord's armies of death, amassing under the black skies. Their blood-thirsty shrieks still echo through my dreams at night. When I look out the window, I can feel his dark shadow, reaching out, ready to seize the city in its deadly grip. It will not be long before Gondor feels the full extent of his wrath. And when that day arrives? What will become of these very halls I sit in now?

Taking in my surroundings, I seem to notice it only now for the first time. The marble pillars stand tall and proud, elegantly adorned with intricate carvings. Between the pillars, the statues of kings long gone look upon me, speaking volumes yet uttering nothing. It is with difficulty that I finally tear my gaze away, and I suddenly realize that I'm shivering. How long has it been since this empty coldness crept into these great halls? Has the darkness already infiltrated my once-fair city?

I look down upon the broken horn once again, and my fingers curl tightly around it. Since Boromir was lost, the darkness seems to loom ever greater before me. Still pondering what lies ahead for Gondor, I barely acknowledge the sound of the door opening. 

Footsteps. Then... Silence. 

"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion! I am come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour." *

It is Mithrandir who speaks to me. I raise my head and meet his gaze. _Ah, Mithrandir, Mithrandir. Do you take me for a fool? You enter my city under the guise of a saviour, but I am not blind to your secret dealings and dark ambitions; the Palantír has shown me much of your true nature..._

I search his eyes for signs of guilt, but they reveal nothing.

_You cannot hide your treachery behind an innocent mask, Mithrandir. After all, did I not catch a glimpse of your secret meeting with Saruman the traitor? At length you have spoken with him, and much has transpired between the two of you. I see that you have already changed your colour to that of Saruman's... What of your allegiance?_

"Dark indeed is the hour, and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir."* I look at the wizard skeptically, barely veiling my contempt as I reply.Seldom has Mithrandir's appearance brought cheerful tidings to my people. Undoubtedly, he is here once again as the harbinger of dire news. Unfazed by my comments, he only looks calmly back at me. I swallow my anger at his indifference, and instead turn my attention to the halfling standing before me. He is examining his surroundings, his eyes filled with a bright sense of wonder... A faint flicker of recollection passes through my mind.

"It has been told to me that you bring with you one who saw my son die. Is this he?"* _And is this the halfling of which the prophecy spoke?_

Mithrandir responds, answering my unspoken question, "Halflings they are, as you see, yet this is not he of whom the omens spoke." *

Feeling somewhat unsettled, I direct my gaze away from him. Has he gleaned the information directly from my mind? Or have my eyes betrayed too much of my thoughts? I close my eyes briefly as painful memories return to me. Halflings. Isildur's Bane. Curse the prophecy that stole away my son! If only he had never gone on that unfortunate errand... If only Faramir had gone in his stead! Perhaps then, many would have been spared of these griefs. My son would still be here, his valour lifting men's spirits and his blade defending Gondor against the rising darkness. 

Dimly aware that I have been speaking, I am jolted out of my thoughts when Mithrandir makes his reply. A small note of surprise slips into his voice as he lightly inquires about the source of my knowledge. _Nay, Mithrandir, I am fully aware of this great tragedy, for the River Anduin has already brought me the unhappy news ere your arrival._

I lift up the broken horn in demonstration, drawing a cry of recognition from the halfling. Observing him carefully, I recount my limited knowledge of the events in question. As I finish speaking, I turn to the little one questioningly, hoping he will add to my story. With a wavering voice, he gives a brief account of his adventures that fateful day. My grip on the horn tightens as my worst suspicions are confirmed: Boromir had indeed blown the horn for help... But, alas, no help came to him.

A sense of bitterness stirs within me and I question the halfling sharply. Why is it that a halfling should survive, while my Boromir perishes? I push back the rising feelings of resentment and force myself to listen intently to the halfling's response.

As he describes Boromir's final moments, I recall a brief sight from the Palantír - a dark shape, hunched near a tree, surrounded by foul orcs. So... _that_ is what has become of my beloved son? Slaughtered mercilesslyby the deadly arrows of orcs? The halfling speaks appreciatively of Boromir's brave efforts, yet little comfort do his words provide me. If only Boromir were still alive.... 

Tiring of this train of thought and conversation, I almost dismiss the halfling and Mithrandir. Before I can speak, however, the little one steps forward boldly and offers me his sword. Whether he is merely caught up in the moment, or he truly feels the need to repay his debt to Boromir, I do not doubt his sincerity. A smile touches my lips as I look upon the halfling in a new light. I order him to hand me his sword, and I examine it with interest.

"Whence came this? Many, many years lie on it."* Listening to his account of the sword, I marvel at the newly revealed aspects of this halfling. It would seem that I have greatly underestimated him. Pleasantly surprised, I accept his service. Though he may not be the halfling of the prophecy, he still holds many answers - not only of Boromir's death, but perhaps of Mithrandir's schemes as well. He may prove to be useful yet.

Mithrandir then instructs the halfling to take the hilt and begin his oath. He asks whether the halfling is truly resolved to do this, his voice subtly laced with doubt. It is quite clear that Mithrandir is hoping that the halfling will retract his words. As the halfling swears his fealty, Mithrandir stands to the side, looking on with quiet vexation and a touch of concern.

_What are you afraid of, Mithrandir? Do you fear that the halfling might reveal something you wish to keep hidden?_

Promptly, I summon my servants to arrange a meal for my guests. Anxious to obtain the answers to my questions, I ask to speak with Mithrandir at the end of the day instead. At once, the wizard objects vehemently, informing me of the importance of his accomplishments. So, the grey fool claims to have overthrown Isengard and broken the staff of Saruman? Though it is true that I have received words of such an occurrence, I cannot help but doubt its validity. I have clearly seen Mithrandir consorting with Saruman. What is to say this is not just a clever ploy to deceive the masses?

He concludes his speech asking pointedly whether his feats were naught to me.

_And is a father's grief over a recently departed son naught to **you** , Mithrandir? Would you deny him the knowledge of his son's final journey?_

Holding back the angry remarks, I respond tersely. I do not need a wizard's meddling advice, nor do I need his help! I look at him again, feeling his eyes burn deeply into mine. The halls fall deathly quiet again. _What are you hiding from me, Mithrandir?_ The silence stretches on tensely. After a time, I slowly withdraw my gaze. _It matters not. Nothing will be concealed from me much longer, Mithrandir, try though you might._

"Yea, for though the Stones be lost, they say, still the lords of Gondor have keener sight than lesser men, and many messages come to them."*As I mention the Seeing-stones, I cast a quick glance at the halfling. The Palantír has shown me his face. Why? I wonder if--

My thoughts are interrupted as the servants enter and set the tables. Once the guests are seated, I begin my questioning of the halfling. At times, he seems vaguely uncomfortable, wanting to look to Mithrandir for guidance, yet something always stops him... _What has that wizard told you to conceal? Do you fear that you may be revealing too much?_ As the questioning continues, I notice Mithrandir sighing impatiently at regular intervals, a quiet anger building up within him. Still, I pay him no heed.

It is only after I am satisfied with the answers I have procured, that I make arrangements to send Mithrandir and the halfling off. Before they leave, Mithrandir accosts me once again, asking me why I have chosen not to accept his counsel. Does he not realize that his words mean nothing to me? I would be a fool to trust the words of a wizard above the words of one who is now under my command. He may well know more than the halfling, but it is doubtful that he would reveal much of that knowledge to me. And his counsel... Many a times has Saruman used those very words. What is to say that his advice will not be deceitful maneuverings for power, just as Saruman's were?

I answer Mithrandir curtly, refusing his help. Visibly dissatisfied, he leaves my presence with the halfling in tow. I lean back in my seat, furrowing my brows as the pounding within my head increases. Although Mithrandir is gone for now, I know that I must meet with him again. Is it not enough that I must contend with the shadow in the east? I do not have time to deal with treachery within my own city. Shaking off my frustrations, I reflect on what the halfling has told me instead. 

We have spoken much of the fellowship, yet there are still facts that the halfling dared not mention. Mithrandir must have forbid the halfling to divulge too much information. What is the true purpose of their journey? How is it that these halflings were allowed to go on such a perilous journey? And the fellowship's leader... Much has been said about him, yet his identity remains a mystery. Who is he? 

My mind slowly returns to the Palantír, anticipating and dreading our next encounter.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Confrontation**   


* * *

**Footnote:**  
  
* JRR Tolkien, "Minas Tirith", Return of the King


	3. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.

**Chapter Three: Confrontation**  
  
Morning has long passed, but the world is still cloaked in darkness. The sun will neither rise today, nor tomorrow. The air weighs heavily upon my shoulders, and I feel my strength slowly leave me. Is this what my beloved Finduilas once felt as she wilted under the oppressive shadow of Mordor? Alas that her fragile soul had to endure such a plight! Never will her beauty grace my presence again, but the darkness will touch her heart no more and in that, at least, can I take some comfort.  
  
 _Ah, Finduilas, though I would give the world to still have you by my side, I am glad that you can now have the peace that has eluded you in those years of sorrow and fear. You have always spoken so fondly of the sea; can you take comfort in its presence now where you are? Peace and comfort -- I have much need of both right now. But that will be waiting for me soon, will it not? Yes, soon... when all is lost, I will be joining you, and our son, as well. As for now... I will carry on with this hopeless fight - a fight for my people, but no longer for myself._  
  
A light knock on the door interrupts my thoughts and I look up. As the door opens, Mithrandir strides in purposefully. I shoot him a look of irritation, wondering why he has chosen to come back. Did he not leave shortly after I dismissed the halfling, claiming to have tasks yet unfulfilled? Perhaps he does not think himself bothersome enough already!  
  
"Why do you seek to speak with me again, Mithrandir? Is this a matter of great urgency?"  
  
"I wish to speak further with you about some concerns that I currently have," he replies. "You did not give me much chance to voice them yesterday... or this morning."  
  
"There were more important matters to be discussed." _After all, your opinions are not the only ones worth considering_ , I add silently.  
  
"Perhaps." He pauses before posing his question.  "Will you hear them now?"  
  
I suppress a yawn and nod, wondering for one brief instant what the wizard's reaction would be had I said "No." Shaking the thought out of my head, I turn my attention back to Mithrandir.  
  
"Very good," he says approvingly, and proceeds to launch into his speech.  
  
I sigh softly, hoping that the wizard will not demand too much of my time and energy. Already he has caused me nothing but grief since his ill-timed arrival! I have spent much time trying to determine his true loyalties, and now, the full extent of his treachery is finally known to me. Unfortunately, the new information obtained last night has done nothing to soothe my fears for the future of Gondor: Not only has Mithrandir plotted with Saruman to gain power, he has betrayed Saruman once his means were achieved! The tidings of Saruman's defeat were not fabrications; Mithrandir has indeed overthrown Saruman, but not for the reasons he would have us believe.  
  
It is a cunning mind that can fool Saruman the wise, and one not to be underestimated. The last meeting between the two wizards should serve as an apt reminder of that! Saruman foolishly believed that Mithrandir could be trusted -- a mistake I do not intend to repeat.  
  
I withdraw from my memories, still feeling a chill from the last image I saw of Saruman. No longer did he have his confidence, paling under the realization of what would happen. And Mithrandir? He laughed. He laughed and betrayed the one he claimed he would help. I will not suffer the same fate. I will not be fooled by Mithrandir's false promises, for I have seen what he plans for Gondor... he along with Thorongil.  
  
I have already lost my wife and my son. I will not lose my kingdom!  
  
Stabbing pains suddenly course through my head, causing me to wince. I lower my head and close my eyes tightly. These headaches have been increasing in frequency as of late... Perhaps I should not have used the palantír so soon. Yet... what choice did I have? Treason runs deep in times of darkness, and I must keep Gondor from peril! I let out a deep breath as the pain gradually fades, and I attempt to regain my bearings.  
  
Mithrandir has stopped speaking, and I sense him halt in front of me. I glance up, wincing again as the sudden motion ignites the fire in my head. If only this pain would subside! Grimacing, I barely manage to make my reply.  
  
"I will soon deal with your concerns as I see fit. Thank you for your time, Mithrandir."  
  
For a moment, he seems content with my answer. Then, just as I am about to show him out, he turns back with another question.  
  
"And something else, Lord Denethor. How is Faramir? Have you any tidings of him?"  
  
I frown darkly at the sudden change in subject.  
  
"Faramir is not your concern, Mithrandir," I reply curtly, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. "Now, if there is nothing more--"  
  
"I do not mean to intrude, but I have a great sense of foreboding, and it would ease my mind to know that Faramir is safe."  
  
I study him carefully, contemplating my reply. What trickery is this? Why does he ask for Faramir? What does he plan to do with this information? I continue to observe him warily and remain silent.  
  
"You do not trust me enough to answer such a simple inquiry, Lord Denethor?" he asks, trying to keep his tone light, but failing in his attempt. _Do I detect an edge to your voice, Mithrandir? I am afraid that not all of us are as trusting as you would like us to be, treacherous wizard.  
_  
Sensing that I am not about to respond, he presses on.  
  
"Will you not let me help Faramir if it is within my powers to do so?" he asks sharply. "Have you no interest in his well-being at all?"  
  
"He is my son," I say evenly, unfazed by his accusations.  
  
Mithrandir looks troubled at my response and begins to pace. "When will Faramir be back?"  
  
"Will you seek him out when he returns?" I ask, countering his question with my own. _I am not so dim-witted that I cannot see the true motives behind your supposed concerns, Mithrandir. If you think that you will be able to secure your power through Faramir -- you are wrong. You will not succeed, because I will not let you!_  
  
"And so what if I will?" he asks, clearly frustrated. "Is it so wrong for me to visit a friend?"  
  
I clench my fists instinctively as I hear his last word.  
  
"My son is no friend of yours, Mithrandir!"  
  
Taken aback by my outburst, he simply stares at me. He quickly recovers his composure and starts to speak, but I turn away from him abruptly.  
  
"I must attend to other matters now," I say, signalling the end of our conversation. As I walk away from him, I feel a hand grip me tightly on my shoulder.  
  
"Lord Denethor!" Mithrandir's insistent voice rings out next to me. I shake off his grip angrily and glare at him. To my surprise, he only looks back at me unapologetically, a determined expression etched onto his face. As our eyes remain locked, Mithrandir appears to grow in stature, and I am forced to take a step back. Seeing a flash of anger in his eyes, I laugh suddenly.  
  
"I have not the time to engage in these trivial arguments with you, Mithrandir! If you truly must know, Faramir is currently on an errand to Ithilien, but I do not know when he will return from his duties." I give him a look of contempt. "Will this answer be adequate?"  
  
"That is all?" Mithrandir raises an eyebrow and looks at me doubtfully.  
  
"Why? Do you wish for me to alert you when he is back?" I ask snidely, my irritation mounting. Such insolence! I have already been tolerant enough of his demands. What right does he have to question me thus? I need not tell him _anything_ if that is my decision.  
  
Finally, Mithrandir shakes his head sadly and sighs.  
  
"You need not trouble yourself, Lord Denethor," he answers, sounding almost tired. He starts to leave, but stops in mid-stride. He looks at me thoughtfully, and speaks again. "I know that my words have little meaning to you, Lord Denethor, but nonetheless I must say this -- let not your suspicions cloud your judgment and make you see foes where there are none. I do not ask that you place your trust in me; but I do ask that you do not lose sight of who the true enemy is!"  
  
With that, Mithrandir turns around and departs from my chamber without another word. The door is left open after he walks off into the halls, and I notice the halfling peeking in curiously. As our eyes meet, he swiftly retreats to his original position.  
  
"Peregrin," I call out. Hesitantly, he steps into the doorway, his head bowed. I smile at him. "Come! Let us speak for awhile!"  


* * *

**Next Chapter: Questions**


	4. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.

The halfling enters the room tentatively, taking care to make as little sound as possible. Halting before me, he smiles timidly, quickly averting his gaze again. Seeing his apparent shyness, I chuckle lightly to myself. To my surprise, the halfling looks up again at the sound of my laughter, bolder and more determined this time, meeting my gaze unflinchingly. I allow an amused expression to cross my face. _The pride is strong in this one!_

"Are you hungry, Peregrin?" I ask, seeking to lighten the mood. He perks up immediately at the mention of food and leans forward eagerly. Then, as if realizing something, he takes a step back and gives a quick shake of his head. Staring down, he begins to study the floor intently, shuffling his feet. _He is still uneasy in my presence. Does he fear reprisal if he requests for more food?_

"Do not be shy, Peregrin," I say to him. "You have not had adequate time to adjust to these times of hardship, I deem."  


"No, no! That's all right!" he protests. " Really! I'm being taken care of quite well here, and your city is wonderful!"  


I turn away from the halfling's bright, cheerful eyes. He is merely being polite, perhaps, but he has only served to remind me of what this city used to be. Wonderful? Nay, 'tis no longer so! The shadow has marred its beauty forever. I stare out at the bleak skies and sigh wistfully. _My city, that was once so fair_...  


   "My lord?" The halfling speaks, cautiously breaking the awkward silence.    
  
"Oh. Do not mind my silence, Peregrin. I had been thinking of other matters. It is only too easy to want to drift elsewhere when there is only this cheerless gloom in the air."  


   "I can understand that, sir," he says, looking more comforted. "I often think of the Shire myself, and of my fellow hobbits, as well."  
  
"The Shire..." I turn to observe the halfling thoughtfully. _I have been under the threat of Mordor for so long, it is difficult to imagine what the halfling is now going through. What must it be like to have left behind a peaceful home_ _only to be thrust into the midst of a desperate war?_ Noticing the halfling's curious glance, I shake off my thoughts and motion for him to sit. "You must have many pleasant memories of your home. Will you tell me of this place? I grow weary of hearing naught but ill tidings."  


   The halfling obliges happily and begins to recount tales of the Shire, some touching, some highly comical. Along the way, he also explains the customs and traditions of his land, often stopping to recall his favourite foods. What peculiar people these halflings are -- or rather, hobbits, as they like to call themselves. Eating six meals in one single day? It is no wonder this halfling has been bemoaning the lack of food here in Minas Tirith!  
  
Then, in the middle of one of his tales, his voice suddenly falters. He lets out a sigh and a great sadness washes over his eyes. I look over at him in concern, but he only smiles in a strained manner and tries to continue.  I shake my head slowly and gesture for him to stop speaking.   


"You must miss your companions..."  
  
"Yes, terribly," he replies. "And I worry!"  


"Be comforted, Peregrin." I give him a look of sympathy. "The Lord of Imladris would not have sent them away had he thought them unsuited for such a journey."  
  
"I-I guess not," he reluctantly agrees, his voice wavering with doubt.  


"Nonetheless I understand how you feel. It is a difficult time, and you desire the companionship of your friends." _I know well how terrible it is to stand alone under the darkness, and I am sorry that you must suffer the same fate._  
_  
_ He nods in response to my words, still looking forlorn. Gauging his reactions closely, I ponder my next question carefully.  

"If you do not mind telling me this, Peregrin - why did Mithrandir take you away from the others? What possible reasons must he have had?" 

Upon hearing the question, his shoulders tense up and he blinks rapidly, almost uncomprehending. Then, recovering almost instantly, he relaxes and grins. "Well, you know Gandalf --" He trails off and turns abruptly to face me, lips pursed in a grim expression. He shakes his finger in a scolding manner and continues in a stern voice, "To keep you out of mischief, you fool of a Took!"  
  
So alike to Mithrandir was his imitation that I laugh out loud. _Ah, it has been too long since I have been so thoroughly amused!_ Not wanting to destroy the jovial atmosphere just yet, I decide to keep the light-hearted tone of the conversation for now. "So I take it that you are prone to mischief, then, little one?"  


"Certainly not!" he exclaims indignantly, still retaining a serious expression. "I am an honourable hobbit."  
  
"Is that so?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Assuming a proper standing position, he makes a deliberate show of dignity. Watching him, I note with interest the unusual appearance of the halfling in his full uniform. Despite his exaggerated posture, he truly does seem to have an air of formality and poise about him. _How easy it is now to see why he is regarded as a prince of his people!_   


Unsure of the sudden silence, the halfling sits down and inspects his surroundings, casting occasional glances at me. As the gloom settles back into the room, I proceed further with my questions.   
  
"An honourable hobbit you are, indeed, and brave. But why it is that Mithrandir does not treated you as such?"  


"I b-beg your pardon?" he stammers, clearly caught off-guard. "I am not being mistreated, sir!"  


"So you mean to say that you do not object to being torn away from your companions, and then left entirely to your own devices in a land unknown?" I ask harshly, a feeling of impatience suddenly rising from within. _Why does he still defend Mithrandir?  
_

The halfling cringes at my accusations and sinks down into his seat. I sigh in resignation. _Of course he would not think critically of Mithrandir; it is unlikely that he would be aware of the true extent of Mithrandir's designs._ I rise from my seat and walk closer to the halfling, giving him a hard look.  


"You never thought of Mithrandir's treatment of you as... unjust? What crimes could you have committed to merit a punishment so cruel?"  


The halfling immediately starts to protest, but I hold up a hand to silence him.  


"He has taken you from your friends, then proceeded to ignore you, only speaking to chastise you on perceived ill-doings. Why should you tolerate this treatment?"  


"No!" He raises his voice to meet mine. "Do not blame Gandalf! I _did_ make a mistake! I should not have looked--"  


He stops in mid-sentence, aghast at what he has just revealed.  


"Where should you not have looked, Peregrin?" Grasping his shoulders tightly, I lean forward and look into his eyes. A brief flash of recollection hits me.   


"What do you know of the Seeing-Stones?" I ask on a sudden impulse. His eyes widen and he begins to struggle fiercely against my grip, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The panic evident in the halfling confirms my instincts, and I let go of him abruptly. He falls back on his chair with a thump. Small, and huddled against the back of his chair, he nearly resembles a frightened child, looking suddenly out-of-place in the attire of the Tower. A pang of regret surges through me, and I look away from his fearful expression. 

"Forgive me," I say quietly. "I sought to speak of happier things with you."  


"That is all right," he replies with a shaky voice. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers. I step further away from him, allowing him more space.   


"Do you regret now your oath to me, Peregrin?"   


"No, I do not, my lord," he replies resolutely. He still does not look up at me, but he appears to be calmer.  


"Why did you come here?" I ask sadly. _Did you know that you would be walking to your doom? No one should endure the trials you have undergone, and I am sorry to have added to it. If circumstances were not so dire, I would not have put you under such duress; but I must find out all that I can, before Mithrandir leads us all to our deaths!  
_

The halfling clears his throat uneasily. "Well, Gandalf brought me here, sir."  


"But why did you leave the Shire? Did he have something to do with that, as well?"  


For a moment, he does not reply, unsure of his response. "Maybe... I mean... Frodo was the one meeting with Gandalf, for some adventure, I would assume. I suppose I just went along because I was one of his friends." He lets out a nervous laugh. "After all these years, Bilbo's sense of adventure _must_ have rubbed off on Frodo somewhat. And-and I'm quite sure that Sam's been wanting to see the elves for quite awhile now!"  


I look at him with mild skepticism. If Mithrandir had anything to do with the departure of these halflings, there must be more than mere restlessness behind their reasons. Why put the halflings through such a perilous journey?  


_Doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the halfling forth shall stand._ *  


The Riddle mentions the halflings in its last line. Is this journey of theirs a portend of our doom? Frodo... He is the one that Mithrandir wanted to meet...  


"Your friend Frodo - of what importance is he to the quest?"  


The halfling refuses to make a sound, his hands clutching the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white.  


"Please do not think me troublesome for being so persistent." I soften my tone. "Many questions have plagued me since Boromir left on that unfortunate errand to Imladris. I have learned much through tidings from afar, and the scrolls from this city, but not enough to put my mind at ease. Can you understand?"  


"Yes," he says in a small voice, hesitating briefly before continuing. "But Gandalf says that I should not say too much!"  


"But what is there to fear if you should tell me?" I restrain the anger that threatens to overtake me, remembering the halfling's earlier reactions. _So it **was** Mithrandir who told the halfling to keep quiet!_   


"The air is heavy with the presence of the shadow, and it has tarnished much with its darkness, but its reach is not so far that it can reside within this very chamber!" I pause momentarily, gathering my composure again. "I only ask you this - Isildur's Bane, the Ring of Isildur - is Frodo the one that is carrying it?"  


The halfling lets out a startled gasp. "Y-you know of the Ring?"  


"Yes, though I should have known sooner, when Mithrandir came in search for the ancient scrolls. Alas that they proved so difficult to decipher! Only small portions of information could I glean from them. And even that knowledge has come too late. Too late for Boromir. Too late for us all, it seems, if Frodo does indeed have possession of the Ring."  


"Please, my lord, do not despair!" he pleads. "There is hope yet!"  


"Only fools have hope now," I say bitterly. "Think over the knowledge you have before you, Peregrin. What hope is there to be found?"  


The halfling gulps and wrings his hands nervously.   


"Has what I said displeased you, my lord?" he asks anxiously, his voice ridden with guilt. My anger dissipates as I look upon the earnest face of the halfling.   


"Do not worry about what you should or should not have left unsaid, Peregrin! All would have been made known to me in time." I place my hand on his shoulder gently, attempting to comfort him. "It is true that what you have told me is not to my liking, but I would like being ignorant of everything even _less_."  


He smiles thinly, still visibly distressed. _Did I push him too hard today?_ _I will speak to him no more, and let him be.  
_

"The prince Imrahil and several others will be here shortly. You may retire to your post now, if you wish."  


The halfling bows, clearly relieved, and rushes towards the door. As he reaches to open it, I call out to him again. He stands stiffly in his place for a moment, and then he turns back to face me.  


"Despite what you may think, Peregrin, you have done well. Do not hearken too much to the criticisms of Mithrandir; he is not the lord of this city, and he has not the authority to control what is revealed or kept hidden! Though you have gone against his suggestions, you have not committed any wrongs. I am ever grateful for your company, and your help."  


"Thank you, my lord." He bows again and exits the room, closing the door quietly behind him.   


Left alone in the dark, I sink into a deep state of contemplation. _Why do I persist in this futile quest for more knowledge? It has long ceased to be useful or comforting. Now I know more of what is to come, yet what can I do but watch it happen? How I despise being so helpless! Can anything still be salvaged at all...?  
_

* * *

**Next Chapter: Accusations**   


* * *

**Footnote:**  
  
* JRR Tolkien, "The Council of Elrond", Fellowship of the Ring.


	5. Accusations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.

A lull settles into the room, and I notice for the first time the fatigue etched on Faramir's face. His journey has taken its toll on him, and much as I would like to question him further, I cannot do so now, especially not before such a crowd.  
  
"Go now and rest as you may. Tomorrow's need will be sterner." *  
  
With that, I dismiss those that are present, ending the meeting. As the door closes for the final time, I sink back into my chair and shut my eyes, wishing that the past few hours could simply disappear. _It is all falling apart too quickly... far too quickly!_ I grit my teeth as anger boils within me once more at the thought. _And a_ _ll of this... because of the foolishness of my own son!_ I slam my fist down in fury, a bitter taste strong in my mouth. _The only part of this that did not surprise me, of course, is the wizard's role in this debacle. Hasn't Mithrandir always been there, subtly hinting and "guiding" any who would listen? Alas! Too late do I realize the extent of his influence now! Faramir has been blinded to the truth by Mithrandir's deceitful teachings, and he is now deaf to all words of counsel save those of the treacherous wizard._  
  
I stand up and begin to pace the room in my growing agitation. Indeed, I should have recognized the signs earlier -- Mithrandir has long sought to sway Faramir's thoughts in his favour -- but in my foolish pride, I did not - _would_ not - notice how much success the wizard has had. I believed that Faramir would at least stay true to Gondor, but I was wrong. No longer is my son's heart bound to his country... or his family. Instead, he has become naught but a pawn under the wizard's command.  
 _  
'So be it,'_ he said to me, stubborn in the belief that his actions were justified. Gondor is doomed to be destroyed, and what does he say but those wretched words! No regret or distress does he show for his actions -- letting a witless halfling deliver the most powerful weapon into the Dark Lord's hands does not bother him, as long as Mithrandir deems it wise; hiding valuable information from his own father is of no consequence to him, as long as Mithrandir wishes it so. I wonder... If I had not learned the information myself, would he have been content to keep me in the dark, while the wizard threw away everything that has ever been dear to us?  
  
I laugh bitterly. I have been blind, and treason is now my reward. Pausing in front of the windows, I take in the dark skies and shake my head. Yet what use is there dwelling on the immutable now ? Would I watch idly as my remaining son self-destructs and brings down the world with him? If only Boromir were still here! _He_ would certainly be able to talk some sense into that boy Faramir. Sighing sadly, I turn away from the windows and head for the door. My patience is dwindling -- that I can feel as surely as I can feel our doom approaching.  
  
Still, I cannot let this go so easily. There will be another council called tomorrow, but I must speak with him privately before that. Perhaps if he has not yet retired for the day, I can seek him out and see what comes of it. Just one more time... one last effort. For the sake of our people, I will do this. For Gondor... for duty.  
  
I take a deep breath and walk out of the room, closing the door lightly behind me. Heading down the corridors steadily, I brush past the multitudes of servants. Curious murmurs follow me as I walk, but I pay them no heed, intent only on my purpose.  
  
Stopping in front of chambers, I knock on his door lightly, waiting patiently as the sound of shuffling feet is heard from the inside. The door opens with a rattle, and a mildly irritated, and no doubt tired, Faramir appears in the doorway, barely stifling a yawn. Upon recognizing me, however, his eyes widen and he tenses up immediately. Quickly recovering, though, he bows and greets me politely.  
  
"You are not resting," I remark as I enter the room.  
  
"I will soon," he replies. I nod, acknowledging his response, and take a look around the room. As usual, the room is kept in perfect order, with most everything where it should be. My gaze flickers over to his desk, expecting to find the newest book to catch his fancy. _I wonder_ _what fantastical tale will have caught his attention this time?_ Almost absent-mindedly, I let my hands stray to his desk, about to pick up the book for closer examination. To my surprise, the top of his desk is empty save a few pieces of paper, arranged neatly at its corner. _How odd... he tends to keep those books of his around even at the most dire of times._ _Has he truly changed so much?_ I shake my head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. _Nay, h_ _e has only just returned to Minas Tirith,_ I tell myself. _Let not such trivial matters bother you_.  
  
I smooth the frown from my features and turn to Faramir. _Does he have nothing to say? Surely he knows why I am here..._ Studying him carefully, I silently wonder when - or if - he would speak.Never one to be very forthcoming with me, he seems even more withdrawn today. An uncomfortable air descends upon the room as we come face-to-face, each scrutinizing the other with caution.  
  
Finally, Faramir breaks the silence. "We are now alone. Why have you come to speak to me?"  
  
"I do not need to tell you that," I reply curtly, giving him a severe look. Turning away, Faramir lets out a sigh of exasperation.  
  
"I know that you are displeased with my choice, father," he says with an almost imperceptible edge to his voice, "but the halfling's mission was too important to hinder! For me to have done as you wished would have been far too perilous!"  
  
"No less perilous than leaving it to a powerless halfling, who will no doubt deliver this weapon straight into the hands of the Enemy!" I remind him sternly, making sure he catches my look of disapproval. _Since when does he dare speak to me with such an impertinent tone?_ "Do you truly fail to see the folly of your actions?"  
  
"Nay," he denies, shaking his head. "I have spoken at length with the halfling and his companion; they are anything but weak. In my heart, I believed that what I had done was right!"  
  
"So you decided the fate of everyone with your intuition alone?" I ask pointedly. "Did you ever think to even consult your father before such a critical decision was made?"  
  
"It was not a decision I made lightly, but under the circumstances, I could not see any other way." He looks at me sadly, imploring me to understand. "It was not my wish to displease you, father."  
  
"Aye, as it was not my wish that my younger son would betray me!" I respond bitterly.  
  
"But how have I betrayed you, father? I would never--"  
  
"Silence! Do not think your father so blind that he would not notice your new-found allegiance to the wizard, Faramir. You have made your choice, when you allowed yourself to be manipulated by Mithrandir. You have betrayed me, and you have betrayed your country!"  
  
For awhile, only silence lingers in the air as Faramir struggles to maintain his composure. Finally, he raises his eyes to meet mine and speaks up.  
  
"You wrong me with this accusation, father," he says slowly. "I know that Boromir would have done otherwise in my place, but you cannot fault me for not being my brother! You may say that I acted differently than you would have liked, perhaps even foolishly if that is what you believe, but do not say that I acted to betray!"  
  
I raise my eyebrow slightly at this unexpected outburst. "Very well," I reply, yielding to his request for now. _It matters not what his intentions were, at any rate,_ I muse. _Arguing over this will not remedy the situation._ Seeing that he is appeased with our temporary truce, I continue. "In any event, it is already too late to dwell on past blunders. Tell me, Faramir, will you still heed my commands?"  
  
"Of course," he replies somewhat indignantly. "What would you demand of me?"  
  
I again let the an uneasy silence hang in the air as I evaluate his words. Undaunted, He merely gazes back at me evenly, unwavering in his resolve. Satisfied with his answer, I proceed with the conversation. _  
_  
"I ask that only that you serve your country as you should, and that you cease all contact with the wizard Mithrandir, whose loyalties are yet unknown."  
  
At that, his eyes widen in dismay. "But father--"  
  
"Yes? What is it?" I interrupt. "Am I asking too much of you?"  
  
"No," he replies after a lengthy pause. "You are not." Lowering his eyes, he bites his lip lightly, as if holding back further words of protest. _It upsets him to be asked to abandon his wizard friend,_ I note to myself, feeling my frustrations mounting again. _But willingly or not, these two will be separated._  
  
"Do not forget that your first and foremost allegiance is to Gondor, not to any 'friend' of yours." I watch as he cringes at my words. _No, this will not work. It would be best not to pursue this any further. Another time perhaps..._ "A council will be called early tomorrow morning. I expect that you will be there...?"  
  
"Yes, father," he says softly, his shoulders slumping. As I start to leave, I could not help but sigh, seeing his dejected form. _I wish it did not have to be so, Faramir, but until you realize the dangers of dealing with Mithrandir, I cannot let you be near enough to him so he can pollute your mind.  
  
_ "Tomorrow, then." _Do not be angry with your father, Faramir. This is for your own good._ "Rest well, my son," I add softly.

* * *

**Next Chapter: Regret**   


* * *

**Footnote:**  
  
* JRR Tolkien, "The Siege of Gondor", Return of the King.


	6. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.

I wonder... How long has it been since I sent Faramir away in rashness? A few days, I suppose, by the reckoning of others... but an eternity it has seemed to me. Hours... days... they all passed, but my feelings of forboding never left me once. I remember watching him silently as he prepared to depart, standing some distance away from him so he could not see me . I knew well that I should have bid him farewell, but I could not bring myself to do so. _What else is there to be said?_ _What use have any of us for empty words of well-wishes in these times of evil?_ And I remember frowning as Mithrandir approached him, but I did not move. _What could the wizard have been saying now? More lies to poison my son's mind, no doubt._ For a moment, Faramir glanced back in my direction, as if he sensed my thoughts from afar, but I pulled back, letting the shadows obscure my face and conceal my presence. This should not have been any different from his mission to Ithilien, but as I watched him ride off into the distance, my heart misgave me.  
  
Now, I see that these feelings have not been unfounded. _What a terrible sight it is that greeted me today! How could it have been that now my youngest has fallen to the darkness as well?_  
  
 _'If I should return, think better of me!'*  
  
_ I look over at Faramir as his final words echo through my mind. _If you should return, indeed!_ _But tell me, Faramir, what manner of return is this?_  
  
 _'I have fought well, father. My heart has never strayed. Do you see, now?'  
  
_ I smile grimly as I imagine Faramir's response. _Alas, my son, for though I see now, it is too late!  
  
 'Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds.'*  
  
_This time, it is Imrahil's voice that sounds in my mind. Faramir would have been pleased to hear such words from a man he admires thus. _Faramir, can you hear us?_ _Why do you not speak?_  
  
"I'm proud of you, my son," I whisper, taking his hand in mine, watching sadly as he lies motionless on the bed. "Can you hear me?"  
  
I shake him lightly, but to no avail. Sighing sadly, I draw him closer into my arms. _Faramir? Will you not speak to your father once more ere the end?_ I touch his face, feeling his skin burning, as though a fire rages within him. What must he think of me now? _  
  
'On one occasion at least your counsel prevailed...'*  
  
Aye, and now it has prevailed again to send my remaining son to his doom!_ _Oh, Faramir, what ill fate is this that would take you away from me? Is it not enough that my wife left me all too soon, her gentle spirit fleeing from the horror of Mordor? Now, ere both my sons can live their lives to the fullest, the darkness closes in and bears them away as well! Such hasty departures that should never have been!  
  
_ Holding Faramir's hand tightly, I shake my head. _Forgive me, son, for what I have done. I failed your mother when she was ill, unable to give her comfort and refuge from the darkness; and I failed your brother when I let him set off on that foolish errand. Yet, dearest Faramir, it is your forgiveness that I most desperately seek now, for it is you who I have let down far too often. There is naught I can do to atone for my actions, but please know that you are my son, and I love you.  
  
_ I close my eyes tightly, letting the darkened room fade away from my view. For a moment, I let the world slip away as well. I can see Finduilas again, smiling radiantly as she hands a small infant into my arms. Next to me, Boromir is jumping up and down in excitement, reaching out with his small hands, anxious to hold his little brother as well.  
  
"Not now, Boromir," I say, smiling at his antics.  
  
"Faramir!" Boromir tugs at my sleeves insistently, pointing to his brother with a slight pout on his face. Chuckling lightly, I kneel down and let Boromir have a better look at Faramir. A wide smile spreads across his face and he tickles his brother playfully.  
  
"Faramir," he repeats, gazing at the infant with awe.  
  
"Yes, you now have a brother and a companion, Boromir." Cradling young Faramir gently in my arms, I look up at both Finduilas and Boromir, and we share a heartfelt smile.  
  
Too quickly, however, that fleeting moment of happiness disappears, and I am thrust back into the bleak present. Faramir's body is limp in my arms, and his breathing is becoming more laboured. _Alas for Faramir, that his end should come so soon! And what of Gondor now?_ Our forces are depleted, and the Rohirrim are nowhere in sight. _What to do?_ The darkness will not wait. _What to do?_ The darkness advances.  
  
 _'You know what you must do_ , _'_ a small voice whispers.  
  
"Must I?" I answer aloud, though I know that no reply would be given. "I grow so weary."  
  
Only silence greets me, and after a few moments, I reluctantly lay Faramir back on the bed and stand up. _There will be no time to grieve. Indeed, there is never time to grieve._ Leaving the chamber behind, I make my way up the winding stairs. My footsteps echo loudly around me, each sound filling my heart with dread.  
  
Finally, I reach the small chamber at the summit, and my eyes fall immediately upon the Palant í r. As if in response to my gaze, it starts to glow softly, enticing me to come closer.  
  
"But I am so weary," I repeat, even as my hands reach out to touch the glowing stone. It lights up brilliantly at my touch, and the world around me is no more. This time, I do not strain against its will, and stand passively as it fills my mind with visions. Blood. Decaying flesh. Death. Rooted in my place, I stare helplessly at the sights before me.  
  
Barely can I recognize the once-great city of Osgiliath, which is now defiled by the vile creatures of the dark. Orcs run rampantly through the city's ruins, snarling with pleasure at the destruction and havoc. Dead bodies are lying about everywhere; there will be no proper burial for these soldiers, no escape from the darkness. For even as their bodies rot, the orcs feast on them, their blood-covered snouts greedily rending and tearing the flesh away from arms, legs, and torsos. My stomach turns in revulsion as I notice two orcs sharing a chosen morsel, snapping at each other as they fight for their food. _Such abominations of nature! Is this the fate of all those who fall in these dark times?_  
  
Suddenly, the scene changes and I am plunged into the dark. Slowly adjusting to my surroundings, I look around cautiously. _What is this place? It has never been shown to me before._ A slight movement to my left startles me, and I turn to see what has caused the commotion. Orcs again. My blood boils at the sight of them, and I clench my fists in anger. One of them turns around, its hideous eyes flashing, and holds up something in his hands.  
  
Straining my eyes to see better, I frown as I get a better look at the item in the orc's hands. It looks to be an elven cloak, yet what could such an item be doing in the hands of an orc?  
  
Abruptly, I am wrenched again from the scene ere the answers to my question could be gleaned. I am now in a place with more light, and I can see rushing water. _The Anduin!_ Vaguely, I see a dim shape off in the distance, gradually growing larger as it approaches. I lean forward, trying to discern what it is. _Ships! They are ships!_ It is a fleet of ships, looming large in the horizons, their black sails billowing in some unnatural wind. Ever closer they come, deadly in their silence. My eyes widen in surprise. _The fleets of Umbar! They have come for Gondor! What fell stroke of fortune it this that befalls us?_ _How many are there? How strong are their forces? These are ill tidings indeed!_ I struggle to force the stone into revealing more information, but it does not heed my commands. _  
  
Why can I not control this any longer?_  
  
The cloak... the cloak that was shown to me...  it was far too small to have been made for a man or even an elf. My heart sinks as the realization dawns upon me. This is the same cloak that Peregrin wore when he first arrived at Minas Tirith! _The halfling Frodo must have been captured!_  
  
So great was my shock and dismay that I stumble backwards, pulling my hands back from the Palant í r . The chamber snaps back into view, and I breathe in deeply, my heart pounding rapidly. The Palant í r still glows brightly, taunting me with Gondor's imminent defeat. Turning away, I stagger back towards the door, and climb down the stairs.  
  
 _I can no longer use the Stone. The halfling has been captured, and the Dark Lord has regained control over the Ring. He now controls all, and the fleets of Umbar will bring us our dooms._  
  
Returning to the chamber where Faramir lay, I sigh softly and sit down next to him. _Why must he be taken away from me as well? Am I to be deprived of any comfort or love, even in my final days?_ _How I weary of this world and its sorrows..._ Bowing my head in anguish, I silently lament the fall of Gondor.  
  
 _It is over. The Dark Lord has won._   __  


* * *

**Next Chapter - Inferno**   


* * *

**Footnote:**  
  
* JRR Tolkien, "The Siege of Gondor", Return of the King.


	7. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gap-filler. Haunted by disturbing visions in the palantir, and faced with the growing menace of Mordor - Denethor slowly loses hope. This is an exploration of Denethor's final days in Minas Tirith, and his eventual descent into madness. Much introspection and angst. Also features Gandalf, Faramir, and Pippin.

"He is burning, already burning," I murmur, gently caressing Faramir's hand before releasing it. Battle rages, and the city burns. The weak flee, desperate to salvage their lives; but they do not see that the fire that will consume us all. Naught will remain of this world save ashes and darkness. The darkness has come, and already we burn. Our bodies, our spirits - they will crumble into ashes.

Turning slowly, I look down upon the halfling, who is standing before me, as though he awaits my orders. _Why do you still stand there, little one? And still with that glimmer of hope in your eyes! You have not seen what I have, but I think that I am glad for that. For a little while yet, you may have peace; and I would not deny you of such of precious moments now.  
_

"Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your service has been short, and now it is drawing to an end." _Our lives, our world, they are all drawing to an end_. "I release you from the little that remains."  


_And how truly little it is! Go now, if you do not wish for all to be lost for naught!_  


In response, the halfling only kneels, and shakes his head vehemently. "I will not say farewell, my lord," he replies, standing back up and looking me in the eyes. "I will take your leave, sir, for I want to see Gandalf very much indeed. But he is no fool; and I will not think of dying until he despairs of life."  


"Do as you will, Master Halfling," I reply. _For what does it matter if we die in hope or despair?_ _Let the grey fool lead those who will blindly follow! But I - I will not let the Dark Lord's creatures decide my doom. Nay, 'tis much better to control one's own fate!_ _I have not the energy to fight a hopeless battle; there is nothing left in this world for me._ _My duties are over; my family gone. It is time to leave._ Turning my gaze back to the lifeless body of Faramir, I give my final orders to the halfling. "Send for the servants!"  


 The fire continues to blaze, painting the sky red. It leaps and crackles, devouring its prey hungrily. I clasp Faramir's hand tightly as we await the arrival of the servants. _Fear not, Faramir. It will all be over soon. The suffering, the pain - it will all be over soon._  


"My lord?" A voice gently intrudes upon my thoughts. Looking up, I see that the servants have arrived.  


"Lay these covers over him. Make sure he remains warm," I tell them, gesturing towards Faramir. "We must make for the House of the Stewards!"   


Exchanging swift, fearful glances, the servants hesitate. _Fools! Do they not see the inevitable? Even now they would not face the truth!_ I cast an angry glare at them, and as if jolted from a trance, they swiftly do as they were bid.  


Slowly, I follow them out of the room, trembling as I lean on my staff. _How I despise this weakness... this failing body of mine! What little strength that is left will have to sustain me until the end._ As we walk out onto the courtyard, I almost choke, so thick is the darkness in the air. It is suffocating!   


"Halt!" I order, my voice harsh against the uncanny silence. _What a desolate place this has become. So empty... so cold. There is no life here, only death, permeating every inch of the air._ _See how the Tree has withered! Life has long left our city, leaving behind a mere shadow of what was once glorious._ I watch motionlessly as the water drips almost rhythmically from the wilted branches of the Tree. _It has been kept all these years, barely alive - and for what purpose? Only to delay the inevitable! Such a wretched state it is in, already dead, yet forced to cling to life.  
_

"Letus move on," I whisper, bowing my head. Wordlessly, we begin our march anew. All those we pass turn to stare, fear and confusion plainly seen in their eyes. Unasked questions fill the air, but I heed them not, focusing only on what lies ahead. Doors swing open, unlocked. Little-used streets are tread upon again with heavy footsteps.   


I prop myself up on my staff and stand tall as we finally come to the House of the Stewards. Gazing upon the bare, empty table before me, I smile weakly. _It is time for me -- for us -- to join the others now._ I slowly trace my fingers over its smooth surface. _So this is to be my final resting place... and finally, rest I shall._  


My gaze strays over to a table on the left, and my eyes rest on the ashen face of Finduilas. _Ah, my love, you too have found rest, it seems_ , _though much too soon for my liking. But that matters no longer! I am coming to join you now. Faramir is coming, as well. I think that he would much like to see you again - and Boromir, too, no doubt. Our family will be complete again, as it once was.  
_

As I lie down next to Faramir on the table, the servants pull the covers over us. _It will all be over soon,_ I repeat silently. _It will all be over soon._ Sighing softly in anticipation, I speak my final words to the servants.  


"Here we will wait, but send not for the embalmers. Bring us wood quick to burn, and lay it all about us, and beneath; and pour oil upon it. And when I bid you thrust in a torch - do this and speak no more to me!" _For I will be long gone, finally away from this darkness!_ "Farewell!"  


Hearing the sound of servants placing logs all about us, I take Faramir's hand in mine, and let my weariness slip away. _Peace and repose, at last. If only they would hurry with their task and be done with it! I wish to remain no more! But... what is this?_ Greeted only with incoherent shouts and hurried footsteps, I blink in confusion.  _Who dares disturb my peace?_ Flinging the cover off, I stand up, anger and frustration surging through me. _So close...!  
_

Heading angrily for the door, I push against it violently. I almost stumble back as it held, refusing to open. "What is this madness?" I thunder. "Who is there?"  


"It is Beregond, my lord! He has turned against us!" a voice cries out in response.   


"Cease this folly at once, Beregond! I command thee!" I call out as I attempt to push the door open again.   


"Nay, my lord! I am sorry, but I cannot!"  


"You cannot obey your orders, soldier?" I ask, incensed by this mutinous behaviour. He does not respond, and for awhile, I can only hear the sound of cursing and steel ringing against steel.  


"Haste! Haste! Do as I have bidden! Slay me this renegade! Or must I do so myself?" _Have we no capable men left in this city?_ Drawing a sword, I put forth all my strength and force the door open. _Now where is the traitor Beregond? He will rue the day he disobeyed my orders!_  


As I step forward, however, a sudden light invades the space. _It is bright... too bright!_ I squeeze my eyes shut against the piercing brightness, my hold on the sword loosening. Then, quick as an arrow, the sword flies from my hand and clatters loudly on the floor. _How...?_ Staggering backward, I tentatively open my eyes and assess the situation. _Mithrandir! Did he do this?  
_

"What is this, my lord? The houses of the dead are no place for the living," he remarks coolly, his tone slightly derisive. I clench my fists, angered by his sudden appearance. _So it was **he** who turned Beregond's loyalty! _ _Why must he always be so meddlesome? Gondor has no need of him!  
_

"Since when has the Lord of Gondor been answerable to thee? Or may I not command my own servants?" Our eyes lock again, but this time, Mithrandir simply turns away.  


"Where is your son, Faramir?"  


I smile coldly. _So, you have come for Faramir, have you? But you are too late! The darkness is burning him, and even now, only a fragile shell of his former self remains. I must release him from this terrible affliction! You cannot stop me - and you would not stop me, if you cared for Faramir. The darkness will not claim him, it will not claim us!_  


Again, the light around Mithrandir intensifies and I am forced to step back as he rushes past me.   


"It is too late, grey fool!" I yell after him, but heedless of my words, he takes Faramir in his arms and walks away. For a moment, I can only stare, unable to believe what has just passed. _How dare he go against my wishes! This is my city, not his - why does no one stop him?_   


"Father! Father!"   


_Faramir? Faramir! You are speaking again! Why did you stay silent before this? No, Mithrandir cannot take you away from me! Not now!_ Trembling, I reach out to stop him. "Do not take my son away from me! He calls for me."  


"He calls, but you cannot come to him yet. For he must seek healing on the threshold of death, and maybe find it not," replies Mithrandir, refusing my request.   


_Maybe find it not?! Maybe? It is all too clear that he will never look upon this world again! So why prolong his agony? Have we not seen the effects of those who would cling to their lives against their better judgment? When have you last looked upon the Withered Tree in the courtyard, Mithrandir? That is what we have become. Too long has this city and its people clung to survival, but now our doom calls and we must answer! Let me die with my son at my side... Let not all comfort be denied to me in my last moments.  
_

"Authority is not given to you, Steward of Gondor, to order the hour of your death. And only the heathen kings, under the domination of the Dark Power, did thus, slaying themselves in pride and despair, murdering their kin to ease their own death," answers Mithrandir with a disapproving glare. Then, taking Faramir, he turns and leaves without a second glance. _No... he cannot take my son away from me!_ _How can I depart knowing that Faramir is still being kept in this frightful world?_  


"Come! We are needed," says Mithrandir, his voice softening as he turns to me again. "There is much that you can yet do." His eyes look beseechingly into mine, and I almost sway under their influence. _I cannot leave Faramir behind... I cannot fail him again. Oh, why will he not return my son to me? I do not wish to be separated from him... not now._  


Slowly, Mithrandir smiles and beckons for me to follow. For a moment, the very air before me seems to waver, and I lean more heavily against my staff. Then, I shake my head fiercely. _Nay! I will not follow you, grey fool! Enticing words you speak, to elicit false hopes, but you cannot seek to deceive me, for I hold in my hands an instrument of great power!  
_

Laughing at the wizard's foolish notions, I hold out the glowing Palantír. _I have seen what will come, and there is naught that any of us can do to stop it!_ _Relinquish your foolish hopes, Mithrandir. You cannot hope to overtake Gondor and rule our realms any longer; the few who may survive this will be ruled by only one, and that is the Dark Lord. Yea, as powerful as you fancy yourself to be, Mithrandir, you cannot hope to win this war. All will be to ruins. All will fall. I will not let my son live to see such times.  
_

_My son will be no slave to the darkness! I will end this madness even I must take arms again!_ Swiftly, I draw out a knife, and step towards Faramir.   


"Nay, my lord! Do not!" protests Beregond as he leaps before me, blocking my path. _Traitorous villain! Still here to defy your lord's wishes?_ _Let the darkness you, then! Go off with the wizard! But I, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, will rule my own end.  
_

"Come hither! Come if you are not all recreant!" I call out to the servants. _I am sorry, Faramir, but they will not let us depart together. I can only pray that death overtakes you ere the darkness engulfs our city._ I grab the torch from a servant's hand and turn back to the House of the Stewards. _Farewell, Faramir! May we meet again soon!  
_

_My journey is finally ended. Gondor will be no more; freedom will be no more._ The fire burns warmly, wrapping itself around me tightly as it takes me away from this world. With a final burst of strength, I take up the Steward's staff and break it upon my knee. _My duties are over. Farewell fair Gondor! Farewell!_  


The flames leap higher, warmer, surrounding me. The burning sensation spreads throughout my body, and I cry out against the pain. Then, my eyes close, and the pain subsides. It is over. I am free. _  
_

**The End  
**

* * *

**Footnote:**

With some exceptions, most of the spoken dialogue from this chapter was taken from "The Siege of Gondor" and "The Pyre of Denethor", Return of the King.  



End file.
